Assassin's Creed: The Rabble Who Scream Revolution
by Clair The Guardian
Summary: Alexander Hamilton was the aide de campe to George Washington, as much as he wished otherwise. So, how did he end up involed with a group of assasin's lead by the scariest woman he's ever met? These "killers for justice" are convinced that he's the key to winning the war and saving his infant nation, but can he really trust them? And who are these guys with red crosses?
1. Chapter 1

**This is a story I felt needed to exist. And now it does. Enjoy.**

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Chapter 1: A Shadow in the Snow

The camp was very silent at this time of night. Alexander Hamilton knew this better than most of the other aides. He was sitting in a small chair, bent over at his desk, working of course. Neither the desk nor the chair were very impressive, but you had to make do with what you had during times of war. There wasn't any right to complain, being soldiers and all.

Alexander was using the silence of the night to get ahead of his work. Dispite what some would say, General Washington had a lot more work than one would expect. The young aide often had to pull more hours than any of the other adies just to get enough done to where he wasn't flooded the next day.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, now wasn't the time to lament of his work load. He shook his head and focused on the stack of letters in front of him. Congress was very adement about Washington attacking as soon as possible, regardless of how the men were fairing. Alexander glanced outside and inwardly groaned at the sight of the rapidly falling snow. The weather in Valley Forge was what he felt Hell would be like if it suddenly froze over. Silent, unrelenting and imorally cold. He pulled his this jacket closer around himself and wondered how people could like the cold.

He took his quil and dipped it into an open ink pot only to find it frozen. He sighed for maybe the tenth time that night and stood up from his seat. He'd have to get boiling water to defrost the ink. He quietly made his way to the kitchen, keeping an eye out for anyone that might be up, however unlikely that was. He knew there wouldn't be any water, espacially at this hour, so he picked up a metal bucket and headed for the door. He would usually have to take someone with him; getting caught in a sudden storm alone was a death sentence, but he knew for certain no one would be up, so he stepped outside alone.

It was absolutly freezing outside, as he knew it would be. Alexander pulled his jacket as close as possible while silently cursing himself for not aquiring a thicker one by now. He made sure as to light the lantern next to the door, to help him find his way back, before he left. He felt the wind wip up around him as he hurried to the well. The weather was bad enough as it was, but if the wind picked up too much he could get turned around and then Washington would be down an aide. He rushed past battered tents and tired gaurds; whom he gave quiet nods to as he went by. The late night gaurds were used to seeing him at this point, he often needed to get more water for his ink pot in the dead of night.

The well was a good distance from the rest of the camp and in the freezing cold he took a while to get there. As soon as he arrived the storm decided that this exact moment was perfect for getting worse. He didn't know how long it took him to get the water, but the lack of feeling in his hands told him he needed to get inside soon. He held the bucket as still as he could manage and started to make his way back to the camp.

It took five minutes for the storm to get worse. It took ten before Alexander realized that he hadn't reached the outer camp when he definitely should have by now. It took five more minutes for him to acknowledge that he was completely screwed if he didn't find his way soon. He could feel the wind tempting him to give up. To curl into a ball and wait for death. However, anyone who had ever met the young man would tell you he was the most stubborn bastard that they'd ever meet. At least, that's what he'd think they'd say. And so, he trudged on, the wind and snow beating against his body.

He wasn't sure how long he walked, but it felt like an eternity. He, as much as he would like to deny it, was starting to tire and slow down. If he didn't find his way soon... He shook his head and trudged on, he wouldn't give up that easily.

What happened next was mostly a blur to Alexander. He was on the verge of collapsing when he heard what he thought was someone running towards him. He could barley make out a figure to his right. A shudder of relief washed through him as his legs gave out. Before he could fall face first into the snow, a pair of strong, thick arms caught him. It was difficult to see the figure even though they were inches apart, but Alexander saw somethings that raised alarms. The figure, a man several inches taller than himself, was clothed almost completely in white. From his trousers to, strangely enough, a hooded cape. The man's face was obscured by a cloth mask, leaving the strangers black eyes as the only facial features he could see. However tired he was, Alexander was certain he hadn't seen this man before. His clothes weren't those of any soldiers or messengers that came through camp daily. They were also expertly tailored and well made enough to make even Hercules Mulligan jealous. Whoever this man was, he wasn't a part of the Continental army. That left only one explanation.

Alexander Hamilton was in the hold of a spy.

He used the last of his strength to try and get away from the man, but to no avail. The spy was a good six inches taller than himself and probably ten pounds heavier. Alexander also had almost no energy left. This man had every advantage over him. He was smart, he'd give the spy that much.

The spy in question tightly gripped Alexander's shoulder and swept him off his feet, carrying him in a bridal position and pinning his arms down. After making sure his captive couldn't get away, he started walking. The young soldier blinked at the sudden warmth of another person. He was tempted to stop resisting and suck up any heat. He shook the thought away and tried to squirm away. However, the supposed spy had him trapped between his arms and his torso. He cursed under his breath and glanced at something he only noticed now. A black symbol stood out proudly on the left side of his white cape. He'd never seen the mark before and that had to be bad.

Alexander growled up at his captor, "... Who the hell are you?"

His voice hadn't come out as loud or as forceful as he'd like. The man didn't even look at him, let alone respond. Alexander would have yelled at him if he wasn't freezing to death, so he settled for cursing him I'm his mind while viciously glaring at him. He continued this, until something entered his peripheral vision. Light. He turned his head and was somewhat shocked to see they were approaching his quarters. His captor opened the door and brought them inside. Alexander sighed happily at the warmth of the building, before he realized what this meant. This man saved Alexander so he could be shown where vital documents are without raising any alarms. He was not about to let that happen. He cleared his throat as best be could, preparing to scream, when the man in white shocked him again. He set Alexander down in front of the nearest fire place, lit it and covered him with a thick blanket. Alexander wasn't sure what to think about the man who may or may not be a spy as sleep drew him in. He tried to stay awake, he truly did, but the earlier events had made sleep come unusually easy for the boy. The last thing he saw was the man in white smiling ever so softly at him. He would have questioned it if sleep hadn't claimed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**This update schedule is going to be weird, just so you know. Enjoy.**

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Chapter 2: The Capture Part 1

Alexander Hamilton considered himself a smart man, as would many others. He was also very agile for a twenty one year old and an amazing marksman. He was a great soldier, through and through, so it was easy to imagine how upset he was at being trapped behind a desk. He wanted to be out on the field so badly, he made the biggest mistake of his life. He yelled at his commanding officer. He challenged General George Washington. It was so stupid. Washington forced him to go home, and for good reason. Alexander would definitely be dead if he stayed. Not only that, but when he returned home, he found out his wife, Eliza, was almost two months pregnant. She told him about how she wrote to the General and begged him to send her husband home. He couldn't bring himself to be very mad about it. He would have done the same thing.

Eliza was so convinced that she would be happy with him, regardless of what he did or who he became. She was so certain, he almost believed her. He wouldn't stop trying to make his way up in the world, but he felt he could be satisfied with whatever he, Eliza and their soon to be born child would bring.

Alexander was currently working at a large newspaper in New York City. He wrote essays and articles about the war and the British. It wasn't the battle field, but seemed to be just as dangerous. The redcoats had gone after several journalists and writers who had openly supported the revolution. He made certain to write under a pseudonym, 'James H.' The last thing he needed was for the redcoats to find him and, by extension, Eliza.

He was in his study working on his latest essay when Eliza knocked on the door and let herself in, "Alexander?"

He smiled and stood to meet her at the door, "Yes, dearest? What is it? Is supper ready?" He took a moment to kiss Eliza's three month pregnant stomach.

She chuckled and shook her head, "No, I got a letter from Mother. She says that Angelica, her husband and Peggy are visiting her in Albany and she's sent a carriage. She wants us to make it before they leave."

He frowned slightly, "I'd love to Eliza, but I have wo-"

"I know you do Alexander, but everyone needs a break. Angelica and Peggy haven't seen either of us since our wedding."

He sighed and glanced back at his desk. The essay was mostly done, it just needed to be edited and given to his mail runner to give to the newspaper. He turned back to Eliza, who had a hopefully look in her eyes. He smiled gentle at his wife and took her hands in his, "How about this. I'll be done with my essay by tomorrow at noon. You can go ahead tonight, because I know how much you miss your sisters, and I'll meet you in Albany tomorrow night at the earliest. Does that sound good?"

Eliza thought it over for a moment before beaming up at Alexander, "It sounds wonderful. Are you sure you can make it by then?"

He chuckled and kissed her forehead, "Of course! I have the love of my wife driving me!"

She chuckled and rolled her eyes, "Well, that's that then. Oh, and supper is ready, if you can tear yourself away to join me."

He laughed and closed the door to his office, "Lead the way."

Eliza was really a marvelous cook and Alexander made sure she heard it often. She always got flustered and blushed deeply and it was just so cute to watch. At moments like that, he'd wonder why someone as wonderful as Eliza agreed to marry him.

She left about half an hour after dinner, she didn't need to pack much. With a soft kiss, he helped his wife onto the carriage and waved her off. He immediately got back to work on his essay, his wife and her family were waiting for him after all. It cost him a night's sleep, but he did complete his essay in record time, it was only around ten when he bound it up to take to his mail runner.

Using a mail runner may seem overly paranoid, but he didn't want Eliza to be put in any kind of danger. His mail runner was a young man that was barely starting college named Andrew. He was relatively average looking, other than his blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. He lived alone near the center of New York City and worked as a letter carrier. He was a good man and Alexander appreciated his help.

It only took an hour to arrive at Andrew's house and Alexander was happy with the time he was making. He might be able to make it to Albany before nine. He knocked on the door with a pleased smile on his face. The door cracked open and a pair of bright blue eyes peak out. They widened in shock at seeing him. Andrew whispered from the other side of the door, "M-mr. Hamilton?!"

Alexander blinked in surprise at the young man's behavior, he never acted like this before, "Andrew? What are yo-"

Andrew quickly yanked the door open, pulled Alexander inside and slammed the door shut. He pushed a large dresser in front of it. He turned to him with wide fearful eyes and started speaking a mile a minute.

"Mr. Hamilton, I'm so sorry! I-i don't know how this happened! They f-found out a-and they came h-here and t-they asked about y-you and- oh god! I'm s-so scared, sir! T-they're going t-to come an-"

Alexander grabbed Andrew's shoulders and shook him, "Get a hold if yourself, man!"

The blue eyed teen swallowed and nodded, "Y-yes sir. My apologies."

"You're forgiven. Now, what has you raving like a madman?"

"T-the redcoats, sir! They k-know it was y-you! I didn't tell them, I swear it!"

Alexander cursed under his breath and ran a hand through his ponytail, "... Alright. What did they ask and you tell them?"

Andrew nodded and brushed his bangs out of Hus eyes, "Yes, right, um. They asked where you lived and if I knew where you were now. I said that I didn't and that you would probably be at home. They also asked if I delivered any other letters for you. I said now. Then... They started asking about the army and the General and I don't know what they meant by any of that."

Alexander groaned, "This... This is really bad."

"Sir?"

"You're probably in a lot of danger just by me being here. I need to leave."

"But, sir, they sa-"

Andrew was cut off by a loud knock at the door. He rushed over and peaked outside. He yelped and backed away from the door, "I-it's the redcoats!"

Alexander cursed again and grabbed the younger by the arm, "Come on!"

He pulled him to the back of the house and opened a window, "Out."

Andrew eyed the makeshift exit warily, "Umm. I-i don-"

Alexander sighed and pushed Andrew out the window. He jumped out and landed next to him, "Sorry."

Before Andrew could respond, the pounding of footsteps cut him off. Alexander pulled the blonde to his feet and ran. He wasn't paying attention as to where he was going, only that he and his young friend got away. He ran through multiple streets until he saw their saving grace, the newspaper he worked for. He ran inside as quickly as possible and lounged for the nearest paper and quil. He wrote two letters as fast as physically possible. They weren't pretty, but they were legible. He placed them in envelopes, skribbled names on the front and handed both of them to Andrew.

"Listen well Andrew. I need you to deliver these letters. Get your horse and ride to Albany as fast as possible. Don't stop and don't look back. Go to the port and ask around for Hercules Mulligan. When you find him, say I sent you and give him the one with his name on it. Then head for Schuyler manor and give the other to my wife, Eliza. Stay there until I come get you or this blows over. Do you understand?"

Andrew looked very hesitant, but nodded, "A-alright sir. I'll make sure they get where they need to go."

He smiled and patted the young man's shoulder, "Good. Now go. There's no time to lose. Go out the back."

He pushed Andrew toward the back and ran out the front door. He saw the soldiers immediately and ran the opposite direction. He could hear them thundering after him and ran faster. He ducked into a back alley and stopped for a minute to breath. He ran out the other side and quickly backtracked when he saw the group of soldiers hanging around. He turned and saw that the soldiers were closing in. He did the only thing he could think of and ran the other way. A total of about seven redcoats tried to subdue him. He took out about three before they took him down. They tied his hands behind his back and dragged him towards a prison carriage. The redcoats threw him in and locked the door. Through the cage, he saw a familiar head of blonde hair riding by on a tan horse at near top speed. He smiled briefly as the carriage started moving.


	3. Chapter 3

**This update schedule is going to be really weird, just so you know. My schedule is hectic and I like to write long chapters for this, so it'll take time for new chapters out. I'm still going to write this, it'll just take more time to do so** **. So, anyway, enjoy!**

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Chapter 3: The Capture Part 2

This was hell. Alexander Hamilton was in hell. He thought that the winter spent in Valley Forge was hell, but this place made it feel like heaven.

After he'd been caught, he was dragged to the smallest, dirtiest cell in the local jail. There was barely enough light to see his own hand in front of his face and was only ever brought out for questioning by redcoats. Ha, like he was going to tell them anything. He felt like the redcoats were starting to figure that out too, since he hadn't been let it in... Well, he wasn't exactly sure how long he'd been imprisoned, but it felt like an eternity.

It did give him plenty of time to think, however. He spent of his sleepless hours wondering over the well-being of his friends and family. He truly hoped Andrew was able to find Hercules and get to Eliza safely. He was a good kid, he didn't deserve to be dragged into this. He often thought of his wife and unborn child, hopefully safe with the rest of his family in Albany. He could feel his chest clench at the thought of his child being born without him present. When he couldn't bare to think of them anymore, he thought of the war and his friends fighting in it. He wondered if Burr, Lafayette or Washington would hear of his capture before it was too late. He, personally, would never tell them about it, he had his pride to think of; if he survived to be asked about it, that is. He refused to think of John Laurens. He couldn't stand to think of how his dearest friend would react to this. He made sure to push the freckled man to the back of his mind whenever he came up.

When the guards came for him again it might have been a day or so since the last time. Keeping track of time was difficult without the sun. As they half dragged, half walked him out he was walked past several other jail cells the held what could barely be called the living. Men that had committed crimes and were left to waste away in the dark. He was probably halfway there himself, honestly. The food that they'd given him was barely enough to feed a small child and it was always mostly inedible anyways.

They led him to the interrogation room and forced him into a small and uncomfortable chair that teetered unstably at a medium sized table that unfortunately reminded him of the one he had at his home. The redcoat that usually interrogated him was leaning against the wall looking uncharacteristically smug. He never bothered to learn the man's name; he just called him Lumpy because of his very unattractive face; but he knew his cold demeanor well enough. He was in the typical redcoat uniform, he was a Lieutenant or something like that; he really didn't care about Lumpy. He was holding two pieces of parchment in his hand that Alexander couldn't help but find faintly familiar. Lumpy smirked and placed them down on the table for him to read.

Alexander barely got through the first paragraphs before his stomach curled in on itself. The pieces of parchment were letters that he had written. The first was a letter he wrote to the publisher of the newspaper he currently worked for. The second was a letter to Congress with Washington's signature across the bottom. Even someone who was half blind could tell that they were written by the same person. Alexander could feel his heart ramming in his chest. They had connected all the dots between himself and the revolution. He felt sick. It would be better if he was with the army still, then they wouldn't be able to get to him, but with him in jail... This would be enough to have him hanged for treason to the crown. He looked up at Lumpy, a sadistically smug smirk on his face. He made an indicating gesture towards him and the young revolutionary finally realized what the redcoat was asking.

 _Sell out the Continental Army, or hang._

All the people this would effect rushed through his head at lightening speed. His wife and child, his dearest friends, his commander, his fellow soldiers, the country he loved so much. What would happen to them if he did this? How much would Burr, Lafayette, Mulligan, Washington and John Laurens hate him? How disappointed would Eliza be? How would his child grow up in a nation he betrayed? Would he ever find a way to live with the guilt?

He clenched his fists as tight as possible, nearly drawing blood from his palms. How badly did he want to see his wife and meet his son? Was his want bad enough to sacrifice the lives of thousands of men? Men he worked and fought with for a country to call their own. Could he really throw away this shot? The chance to live and see his family grow.

He sat in silence, brooding over this choice for what might have been hours. When he finally looked up at Lumpy, his face was carefully blank. Lumpy smirked, well assured that he would comply.

"... You and your king can go rot in hell."

Lumpy's face fell immediately, he clearly wasn't expecting that answer. He glanced back at the guards and motioned for them to take him away. He spared Alexander a glance as he was dragged out and said, "... I look forward to seeing you at the gallows, Hamilton."

Alexander made what could be considered a growl as he was removed from the room. The guards lugged him back to his dark cell and tossed him in. He glared at what he could make out in the dark as their retreating forms as he forced himself to sit. He stared at the ceiling quietly, wondering about a future that he would never get to see. He would deny it until the end of his days, but that night, in the dark of his cell, Alexander Hamilton cried.

0-0-0-0-0

Alexander straightened his shirt as best he could with his hands bound behind his back. The guards allowed him to change into a plain white shirt and white trousers for his execution, which was oddly nice of people who intended to hang him. They also gave him time with a local priest, to confess any sins before the end, he supposed. He didn't say much to the priest, just a few last things he wanted off his chest.

Strangely enough, Alexander wasn't as tense as he'd thought he'd be at Death's door. He imagined death so much it felt more like a memory. He often wondered how or why it would get him. From peacefully and silently in his sleep after a long life to on his feet, from the barrel of a gun seven feet ahead of him. He did think of this scenario; the crack of his neck from the end of a rope. Though, he always imagined that he would have a friendly face or two at his side, having fought the war bravely and valiantly but lost in the end. He wouldn't have minded the end of him that much if he had a friend with him. Yet, here he stood alone.

 _That's life_ , he figured.

He shook his thoughts away while also causing his brown locks to fall across his face; his hair had come loose some time ago; and leaned against the wall of his cell. He'd spent the last two or three weeks, or however long he'd been imprisoned, in silent misery against this particular wall. He even managed to etch "A. Ham" into it after some time and work; a little piece of him for other prisoners to look upon and wonder about who left it there.

The guards came for him at noon. He only knew it was noon because the guards said that was when they'd come get him. They led him outside, the sun blinding him momentarily. He almost forgot how sunlight felt on his olive skin. As he was directed towards the gallows he noticed how quiet the people around him were. The residents of New York City weren't known for being this quiet. He looked around at people that were out and noticed that they kept glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes and immediately looked away when he looked at them. He guessed that news of his execution had spread.

The walk to the gallows was a short ome, whether or not he was greatful for it was up for debate. He looked up at the rope that will end him with mixed emotions, none of which he showed. They walked him up the bottom of the stairs and waited. He was about to question why, when the bells of a nearby churches started ringing. It seemed that they were going to make this as public as possible, make an example of him.

People stopped whatever they were doing and looked towards the gallows. There was an almost palpable tenseness in the air. Alexander could feel Death's cold hand on his shoulder. He drew a breath and allowed himself to be brought up the stairs. Lumpy and who Alexander assumed was the executioner. The guards moved him to the left of the rope while Lumpy and the executioner stood on it's left.

Lumpy stepped forward and started speaking to the crowd, discussing why Alexander was being hanged, probably.

He ignored the redcoat, instead focusing in the man the would be pulling the lever to the trap door, effectively killing him, hopefully. The executioner was a darker skinned man in his mid twenties and he, unfortunately, reminded Alexander of Hercules Mulligan. The man was dressed simply, a black coat and black pants with a wide hat. He had about six inches and maybe ten pounds over himself. Coupled with his wide shoulders and healthy bulk made him seem like the kind of person who wouldn't have this sort of job. He looked more like a farmer or someone that should be serving in an army. He glanced at Alexander and the young revolutionary could feel something nagging at the back of his mind for attention. The man had deep black eyes that made his head ache with a long forgotten thought. He knew those eyes, but from where, he couldn't tell you.

Lumpy turned to him and motioned Alexander forward. The gaurds didn't give him a chance to refuse by pushing him forward. He looked out over the crowd, their faces showing a multitude of emotions, mostly somber ones. He figured this was the part where he was supposed say his last words, his final statement to the world before oblivion. He looked towards the sky; it was a rather nice day today; and thought about what to say. As much as he tried not to, his mind drifted to a distant night from a time long forgotten amidst the fire of war. A song that was once full of unity and strength and togetherness now rang out in his mind with a solemn cord. He unconsciously closed his eyes, tilted his head towards the ground and sang out to the crowd words from another time.

"I may not live to see our glory... "

He may have been standing on a gallows platform in reality, but he was in a small pub with his dearest friends in his mind, if only briefly.

"But I will gladly join the fight..."

He could almost feel the warmth of his friends, the smell of alcohol and the drunken pratter of other patrons.

"And when our children tell our stories..."

He felt a pair of arms pull him back until he stood over the trapdoor and the rope was touching the back of his neck. They clearly wanted him to stop talking and die already.

"They'll tell the story of tonight..."

He sang the last line as loud as he could as the rope was forced around his neck. It was just as uncomfortable as he expected it to be. He opened his eyes and looked up at the executioner. He was silent as he adjusted the rope. Their eyes met again for a split second before he turned and walked to the lever that would drop him. Alexander turned to the crowd, many of the men, women and children were gathering tears in their eyes. He glanced at the executioner again, he looked as though he was waiting for something to happen before he pulled the rope. A signal, maybe? It wouldn't matter for much longer. He raised his eyes to the sky and chuckled lightly. So, this was it, huh? What should his final statement to the world be? It only took a few seconds to decide. He closed his eyes and sang out quietly, but the crowd was so quiet he wouldn't be surprised if they all heard it.

"... Raise a glass to freedom..."

The lever was pulled and the trapdoor fell away with a loud bang. He felt pressure on his neck for a split second before it disappeared. He wondered for an instant if he was dead, then he hit the ground. He blinked disorientedly and wondered what just happened. Gunshots rang out above him and he looked up. He was under the stage, seemingly to have fallen through the trapdoor. He'd been told that sometimes they use poor quality ropes that break under the person's weight, but he didn't think that they would spare an expense in hanging him and the fact they did annoyed him. The rope, however, appeared to have been cut. He examined the part of the rope that was still around his neck and, sure enough, it was a very clean cut. He was pulled from thinking of the implications of this by someone jumping down next to him. He was shocked to see the executioner crouching next to him. Before he could even get a word out, the other man pulled him to his feet and ran out into the crowd.

The crowd itself were in hysteria over the fight he figured was going on. It sounded like people decided they wanted him to live all of a sudden. He was lugged all the way to the main street and forced into a modest carriage. As soon as the door closed, the driver speed off. He quickly glanced around and immediately noticed something. Innocently resting on one of the seats was a neatly folded bundle of white and gray clothes. What really caught his attention was a familiar black symbol on the right of the chest, over the heart. Suddenly, a cold night from ages ago hit him, including a pair of recognizable black eyes. Before he could completely turn and question the executioner, he was hit in the head. Before he lost consciousness, he realized he'd been kidnapped by the same people from that night.

 _Figures,_ he thought before his world went dark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow, this took way to long to update. I had a lot of tests recently, sorry. I really appreciate the feedback this is getting and it's nice to know people are having fun reading. Enjoy and review!**

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Chapter 4: The Brotherhood

When Alexander Hamilton woke up, he found himself on a very large and comfortable bed. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper night's sleep and was tempted to curl back into the blanket and go back to whatever dream he was having. At least, until he remembered what happened before he blacked out. The former _aide de camp_ sat up immediately and felt his neck, half expecting to feel a course rope around it. Instead, a very soft bandage was covering what he could only assume was a rope burn and felt another one wrapped around his head from whatever knocked him out.

Alexander looked around the room and was surprised to be meet with a very expensive looking bedroom. It was decorated simply; cream walls, freshly washed drapes, linens, and comforter, and expertly cleaned furniture. He slowly stood and moved the drapes to look out the window. He was on the second floor of what appeared to be a very nice country home, like ones he heard littered the southern states. Whoever brought him here must have been reasonably well off, he assumed. He closed the drapes and noticed a fresh pair of clothes neatly folded on the vanity. He was still in the outfit from his attempted execution so he was greatful for some fresh clothing. Whoever had him brought here left him an elegant dark green button up and black trousers with simple black shoes. Each article of clothing was clearly made by experienced and expensive hands. He put them on and finally fixed his hair up into it's trademark ponytail after God knew how many days of not being able to.

A knock on the door startled the young man from his grooming. Alexander turned and was meet with a young woman in a typical maid's uniform. When she noticed he was up, she began apologizing profusely for walking in on him. He could tell that English wasn't her native tongue by the multiple French words she dropped in every now and again. She was much better than Lafayette was the last time he saw him, but not by much. After a minute of continuous apologizing, Alexander decided to stop her.

"Woah woah, hey, calm down. It's alright Miss."

She quieted down quickly, an embarrassed blush on her face, "I am very sorry, sir."

He chuckled and gave her a small smile, "It's fine. What's your name?"

She nodded and did a small curtsy, "My name is Margaret, sir. The... boss asked me to tend to you."

The way she hesitated to say "boss" made him suspicious. What servant would be uncertain as to what to call their employer? "The boss?"

"Oui, er, yes. The Madam whom had you brought to this house. Now, if you would kindly follow me. I am to take you to eat."

Alexander had already figured that whoever this supposed "Madam" was, she didn't want him dead, at least not yet. Hoping that this was the wise thing to do, he let the young maid lead him through the house. He was right in suspecting that the owner of this house was wealthy; everything around him showed the signs of money. He was escorted down a beautiful staircase and to a large door. Why architects thought doors needed to be so large, he'd never know. Margaret pushed the absurdly large door open motioned him into a luxurious dinning room with a ridiculously long table. He remembered the there was a similar table at the Schuyler manor, as well as ridiculously large doors, and wondered if they were common features in houses like this.

Margaret motioned for him to sit in the chair to the left of the head of the table, a position usually saved for a valued guest or dear friend. Alexander thought that it didn't really fit for the current situation. He sat in the surprisingly comfortable chair as Margaret left the room, the still absurd door slamming behind her. He could faintly hear someone cooking in the kitchen; a personal chef, no doubt. The wealth this owner had was starting to annoy him.

The door opened again and the young revolutionary was meet with a familiar pair of black eyes. He stood and stared at the man who was his executioner just yesterday. Today, however, he was dressed completely in gray and white with a black symbol that he remembered from a long forgotten winters night in the pit that was Valley Forge.

"... It was you. That night at the camp. You... saved me."

The man chuckled as he began his approach, "Quite right, Mr. Hamilton. Or do you prefer Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton?"

He sounded American, but there was something about the way he spoke that wasn't quite what he was used to. Either it was an accent from another state that he was unaware of or English wasn't his first language, like Margaret. "I don't believe that titles matter much here, Mister Executioner."

He laughed; an loud sounding bark of one, but a laugh all the same, "An outsider _would_ find that to be true, I think. Only the ranks matter here, my friend."

Alexander figured it was safe to sit down. "So we're friends, are we?"

The man sat opposite of himself and planted his arms firmly on the table, "Well, that all depends."

"On what?"

"How willing you are to work with us and how good of a persuader in you are."

A fairly vague skill set, but not one he hadn't acquainted himself with. "Before I do either of those things, I'd like to know who I'm dealing with."

"I'd be worried if you weren't. One of the Masters and our... leader will be joining us shortly to do just that. I'd mind your manners around them if I were you."

There it was again, the hesitation at the mention of the person in charge, just like Margaret. Before he could ask about this odd trend, the door opened again. Two people entered this time, a man and woman. Alexander had to guess that one of them was this Master and the other was the leader. The man was dressed similarly to the false executioner, but with black instead of white. His tanned skin, controlled look in his brown eyes and long, night black hair made him stand considerably, so the hood made sense for him. He carried only two visible weapons, a hand gun and a large knife, but he was certain the man had more on his person. The woman stood out just as much as he did. Her black hair and pale skin were certainly common enough, but eyes as gray as storm clouds weren't. She was dressed similarly to the other two, but in mostly black with hints of white and gray. She didn't have any visible weapons, but that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous.

The man sat next to the other and Alexander realized he had only gotten one name and several titles since waking up. The woman sat at the head of the table. Well, he knew who was in charge at least. The woman's gray eyes were watching him in silent observation. He could see equal parts interest and determination in those gray clouds. This woman knew who he was and was going to make sure he listened to her words, whether he wanted to or not. She reminded him of the determined spirit that lived in his sister in law, Angelica. The only difference being that this woman had all the power and he was more or less at her mercy. For some reason, he felt concerned for his wellbeing.

Alexander decided to speak, but the woman held her hand up before he could get his first word out.

"No. No questions yet, Mr. Hamilton. We can discuss our business after lunch."

She was a first generation American, he could tell. He'd meet many people with the same accent. People with British parents, but raised around other American children tended to have the same way with words. He would have taken further note of this, but the thought of a decent meal had his stomach almost audibly rumbling, but he was determined to get a name, at the very least, "I was merely going to ask the names of my hosts. I would at least like to know what to call the lovely lady I'll be dinning with."

The woman laughed, a quiet but pleasant one, "Ah, yes. The ever present charm of Alexander Hamilton. I've heard stories of it. To think I would encounter it in my own home. I am truly surprised, to say the least."

He decided he liked this woman. She was someone he could see himself getting along well with.

"In any case, you may call me Amelia. The man in front of you is Able and the man to his left is Connor."

He had no way if knowing if those names were real or not, so he just nodded, "Since we are on a first name basis, call me Alexander, if you would."

Alexander noticed the now named Able and Connor exchanging a look that made him wonder how Amelia had treated others besides himself up until now. He would have questioned it out loud, but food was brought out and he was starving. He ate as politely and quickly as possible, he was still a guest after all. Lunch was a quick and quiet affair. He could tell that they wanted to discuss things with each other, but didn't due to his presence. He understood it, he was an outsider to whatever loop he had found himself in.

Upon finishing, Amelia stood and instructed him to follow her. The young revolutionary did so, assuming that he was finally going to get some proper answers. Able went off upstairs and Connor followed close behind. He was led into a large study, lined with bookshelves and maps on all sides. Connor locked the door behind them and Amelia sat down at the large desk near the back wall. She motioned for him to sit in one of the two chairs on the opposite side and began pouring three cups of tea. He sat to her left and Connor stood at her right. She reached into an unseen dresser, pulled out a small piece of folded white cloth, and set it in front of him. He hesitantly picked it up and unfolded it. Carefully and meticulously stitched onto the white fabric was the same black symbol that he kept seeing. Looking up at his two hosts, he eyed the same symbol over their hearts.

"... I will admit that this is a very interesting symbol. I feel I'd like it more if I knew what it meant."

Amelia chuckled briefly before placing a hand over her heart, and by extension the symbol, "This, Alexander, is the mark of The Assassin's Brotherhood."

He looked down at the black mark in his hands. He knew of assassins, you had to in his line of work, but he'd never heard of them being organized like this.

"Seems like you assassins aren't particularly good at your jobs if I'm still around."

Amelia snorted and leaned back, "Believe me, if we wanted you dead, you'd be buried in a cemetery by now."

She may have laughed, but the serious look in her eyes made him certain of her words. "What do you want from me?"

Connor answered him, "We are in need of your assistance in our fight."

"What fight? Against who?"

Amelia set her elbows on the desk, a vicious look in her eyes. "Against the Templars. The Brotherhood and the Templars have been at odds for eons. They seek to unite the world under their rule and destroy the Brotherhood completely. They almost succeeded here. They wiped out the first Colonial Assassin's Brotherhood and have been trying to take control of the country from the inside. I assume you remember one Charles Lee?"

"Lee? Of course I do. I was John's second when he shot him, but what does he- ... ... ... He's a Templar."

"I'm afraid so. His actions during the Battle of Monmouth were an attempt to sway people in his favor and away from General Washington."

"That..." Alexander snarled and slammed his fist into the desk, "... That snake! How dare he?! Good men died that day!"

"I can understand you're upset, it is reasonable, but back to the matter at hand. We've brought you here because the Templars are still intent on having this country. We can't have another England on our plates. That is where you come in."

"Me?"

"Yes. I've been led to believe that you are the key to winning this war. Now that I've meet you..." Amelia gave him an appraising look, "... I think they may be right."

He ran his thumb over the cloth clenched in his hand, quickly assessing his options, though he knew what he'd do. "... ... What do you need me to do?"

"First, we'll get you home. I'm certain your family and friends are besides themselves. The Templars posted that you were dead in the papers."

"They what?!"

"After we sort this out, we'll put our support behind you and the Continental Army. A total of thirty assassins are free to spare, but each of them are worth thirty men and can kill more than that. Connor, Able, Margaret and myself will also be there to help."

"Alright... Wait. Margaret is an assassin too?"

"Yes. She's with the French Brotherhood."

"... ... How many of you are out there?"

Amelia stood, "I'm afraid that we don't have anymore time to spare. We have to get you home and start the plan."

Alexander stood and followed the two assassins out the room. He looked down at the white cloth, still in his hands. The mark of the Brotherhood had a sort of ancient majesty to it; a long and proud history that spanned entire generations. He carefully folded the cloth and placed it in his pocket for safe keeping. He may not have been an assassin, but he was a part of this now. A part of a legacy. Just the thought of it made him excited. He wasn't sure how or why he got mixed up into all this, but he planned to do all he could to help his country.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter five is here! It's awesome how many people like this and I'm really thankful for the people who have been supporting me thus far. You guys rock and just thank you all so much. Anyway. Enjoy and review!**

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Chapter 5: The Home

Watching the trees rustling in the wind against a picturesque blue sky, Alexander Hamilton remembered just how much he loved this country. He feel in love with the young nation the minute he laid eyes on it when he first came here from the Caribbean. New York specifically had a special place in the revolutionary's heart. It was where his new family was and he longed to see them again now that he was out of danger, at least for now.

He was currently in a carriage being escorted by two of the three assassins he meet, Connor and Able, to Albany. He was being taken straight to Schuyler manor via a series of back roads and hidden streets and he couldn't help but worry. He hadn't been told anything about the state of his wife, unborn child or mail runner. Amelia had assured him that he would find everything to be fine, but it did little to calm his fears.

Able was driving the carriage and Connor was sitting across from him. Both men had changed from their assassin clothes into more normal articles. Able was dressed as a simple servant, one that no one would be shocked to see driving a carriage at this time of night, and Connor was dressed as a business man, one that no one would be surprised to see being driven around at such an ungodly hour of the night. Alexander himself was simply given a long, hooded cloak he was to keep on and over his face at all times. There was still a chance that the Templars would be looking for him and the Brotherhood couldn't risk being found out, not while they were still rebuilding their organization here.

Able gave a short, birdlike whistle from the front and Alexander groaned. He stood and lifted up the seat to reveal a hollowed out space large enough for about two people. He crawled inside and closed the seat back, as if he'd never been there. Able whistled whenever it looked like a group of soldiers were going to look into the carriage and he would hide inside the seat until the group went away. This group stated around for a short time, thankfully; the hole was very uncomfortable.

Connor helped him out of the hole, "We're close to Albany now. We shouldn't be much longer."

"Good. I'm not sure how much longer I can take having to hide like this."

"It is necessary for your safety. The Templars will not hesitate to kill you if you are seen."

"Why are there so many here anyway?"

"We are not certain, but there are rumors. They say your General is in the area."

"General Washington? Here in Albany? Why?"

"We do not know as of now."

"I see. Let's hurry then."

They reached Schuyler manor about an hour later and Alexander couldn't stop the feeling of dread that spread out over him. He was very worried about everyone he left behind when he was captured. The Templars claimed that he died at the gallows two weeks ago and he hadn't so much as sent a letter to them. He was able to see the towering mansion that was Schuyler manor from the back roads and it made his stomach twist. They were going to kill him if the Templars didn't get to him first. As they pulled up in front of the manor, Connor turned to him.

"Remember, keep your hood up until we are inside, stay hidden until we can further the plan, and do not let your family know what transpired these past few weeks. Them knowing about the Templars would but them in danger."

As much as he hated lying, he would never willingly put anyone he loved in danger, so he agreed. He kept his hood close to his face as the three of them walked up to the front door. He couldn't help but glance out of the corners of his eyes, expecting to see soldiers coming for him again. He was so busy looking for danger that in all honesty probably weren't there that Able had to pull him into the and close the door behind him.

Able gripped his shoulder tightly, "Don't look like we're doing something illegal. It makes people suspicious and if you look suspicious you get carted off to prison. You get it?"

"Y-yes. Sorry."

"It's fine. Let's just get you back to your family."

He nodded and followed Connor and Able as they walked thru the manor. A maid said that the Schuyler family was in the sitting room, comforting each other. Alexander had an idea why they were in need of each others comfort. Connor knocked on the door of the sitting room. A faint "Come in" prompted the younger assassin to open the door. Over the two men's shoulders, he saw the scene they walked in on. A teary eyed Angelica and Peggy were hugging a sobbing Eliza while there mother, Mrs. Schuyler; who was also in tears, was rubbing the back of Andrew, whom was looking on the brink of tears himself.

Mrs. Schuyler looked up at them as they entered, disapproval clear on her face, "Who are you and what do you want?"

He couldn't help a small smile that sneaked its way onto his face. Mrs. Schuyler was a very sweet woman, but when she felt her girls needed a mother's hand, she took control of the situation. His smile faded as Eliza's tried to stifle her sobs, to no avail. He glanced at Connor, silently asking if it was safe to go to her. The second Connor nodded, he briskly walked up to his wife. The three women watched him suspiciously as he kneeled before Eliza.

"Betsy? Dearest, can you hear me?"

All five of the people sitting stilled at his voice. He had a very distinct voice, one that was very hard to forget or mistake. Eliza looked up at him with shocked and blood shot black eyes.

"... A... A-alexander...?"

She shakily reached for his hood. He gave her a sad smile and took her quivering hands in his own, hearing her gasp at the contact like she couldn't believe he was really there. He pulled back his hood and smiled at his beloved wife.

"Yes, it's really me Eliza. I'm so sorry I didn't come to you sooner."

Eliza slid onto the floor and took a hand from his grip. She touched the side of his face ever so gently, like she was worried he'd fall apart if she handled him ruffly.

"... A-alex... I-i thought... Mother s-said you w-were... H-how are y-you...?"

He sighed and gently kissed her palm, "Forgive me Eliza. I wanted to see you, but I couldn't risk putting you in danger..." He placed a gently hand on her stomach, "... Either of you."

Eliza sniffled and cupped his cheeks, "Alexander, say this isn't another dream. Say that you're really here this time. And if this is a dream, never let me wake up... p-please..."

Alexander could feel his heart clench in his chest at the broken tone in his beloved's voice. He pulled her close to him and gently kissed her forehead.

"Shhhh. It's okay Eliza. I'm here. I'm really here, I promise. I'm sorry Betsy. I'm not going anywhere, I swear it."

With that, Eliza burst into a new round of tears. He pressed her into his chest and softly rubbed her back. Two people moved next to him and he turned to see Angelica and Peggy, both looking shocked and confused. Peggy sniffled and pressed her face into his shoulder, joining her sister in crying.. Angelica stated a small distance away and held Eliza's hands. Alexander meet her eyes and gave her an apologetic smile, she wasn't amused.

"Where have you been, Alexander? We thought you were dead. How dare you just disappear like this. Eliza thought she was going to have to raise your child alone. Give me one reason why I shouldn't beat you senseless and kick you out of this house right now, Alexander."

He sighed and placed a hand over the one Angelica was using to hold Eliza's.

"Angelica, I am so sorry. The redcoats threw me in prison as a cover. They'd linked me back to General Washington and wanted me to tell them everything I knew about the revolution. They wanted me to sell out thousands of men in exchange for my freedom. I decided that I'd rather die knowing that my wife, my child, and my friends got to live in a country where they could be free than live with the guilt of knowing that I sentenced thousands of men to die and have my name stained as a traitor. I couldn't let Eliza or our children live with that. I knew you'd be furious Angelica, but I want you to know that I am completely willing to give up everything, even my own life, for your sister. If you can understand that, can you find a way to forgive me? Even a little?"

Angelica looked down at Eliza and a small, soft smile made its way onto her face. She looked back up at him and frowned. She hit him upside the head and pointed a finger into his chest, "If you ever do this again, I will personally end you."

He chuckled nervously, "I can't guarantee what will happen in the future, but I will do what I can."

The oldest sister huffed and leaned against him, "I'm... glad you're okay."

Alexander chuckled and hugged the Schuyler Sisters. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Connor and Able smiling at the scene. He let go of the sisters and stood to face them.

"Connor, Able, thank you both. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the two of you."

Able huffed and folded his arms, "Getting mushy on us now, huh? I know we did good. No need for praise."

"Still, thank you."

Connor nodded and extended his hand, "You are welcome, Alexander. I hope our next meeting will have a little less excitement."

The revolutionary smiled and shook the assassin's hand, "Likewise, my friend."

Able laughed and patted both their shoulders, "Oh, come off it you two! What's a meet up without a little excitement?"

Connor smirked and little brushed Able's hand from his shoulder, "Not everyone would agree with you, my friend."

"Ah, yes. I suppose that may be true."

Alexander chuckled at the two assassins. Despite their occupation frightening him slightly, he'd grown to like the two men.

"I suppose you two will be off then?"

"... Um, Alexander? Who are these two?"

He blinked and turned Mrs. Schuyler, "Oh, these two helped me hide from the redcoats."

Connor stepped towards Mrs. Schuyler and bowed slightly, "Connor Kenway. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Able simply tipped his hat, "Able Castilla, at your service madam. That in law of yours is a trouble maker, I'll tell you what."

The eldest Schuyler woman chuckled, "I've found that to be true, I'm afraid. Still, thank you for bringing him back to us. Are you two really going back out there? The British army have been especially strict these past few days."

Connor nodded, "That was the plan Mrs. Schuyler."

"Well, it just changed. I insist you two stay until morning. I shall make the arrangements."

Before either of them could protest, Mrs. Schuyler had pulled both of them into a seat and went off, most likely to tell the cook to prepare a meal for them. Alexander chuckled, Mrs. Schuyler wouldn't let anyone who did her a service go unpaid. He turned to Andrew, whom had been shocked silent since he walked in, and smiled at him.

"Andrew. Good to see you're alright."

"Y-you as well, sir. I did exactly what you asked. Mr. Mulligan was nice and pointed me here. Your family has been very kind to me as well, sir. Your mother in law has been a lovely host. A tad intimidating at times, but a very kind lady."

"You got to Hercules? How was he? Is he well?"

"He was less than fine the last time we spoke. I... I had informed him of your supposed death. He... didn't take it very well."

"... I see... Did he say anything else?"

"Oh, yes actually! He said that he and some people who knew you would go and visit your grave tomorrow night. He wouldn't say who though."

"... My... grave?!"

Eliza stood and held his arm, "Alexander, I thought you were dead. We couldn't get your body, but I needed to give you a proper burial, if only to make myself feel better."

He sighed and turned to Andrew, "You said it was tomorrow, right?"

"Yes sir. Late at night when the redcoats aren't around. Why?"

"I think I might drop in. Let Hercules and whoever else is around that I'm still alive."

Able looked at him like he was crazy, "Are you draft?! They could still be after you!"

Eliza gripped his arms tightly, "Alexander, please don't. My heart can't take another scare."

"I'm sorry Betsy, but I can't have one if my dearest friends think I died. I'll be careful, I swear it. I'll be back at your side before you even wake up in the morning."

Eliza sighed and laid her head against his chest, "I think all this excitement is going to be bad for my heart."

Alexander chuckled and kissed her hair, "Would you rather I be a boring old business man?"

"It would be better for my health, but I know you wouldn't be happy and that's what I want... Go see Mulligan. I expect to wake and find you writing some article or something since some ungodly hour in the morning. That would be enough."

He smiled into his wife's black hair, "Alright then. I'll be back, I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, this took a while to get out. Enjoy and review!**

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Chapter 6: The Resurrection

Alexander knew everyone was right. This was dangerous and there was a high chance of him being captured again. He acknowledged it, somewhere deep down inside himself, but he'd never tell them or anyone else.

The Schuylers put a lot of money into his grave. They decided to have him buried in Trinity Church Cemetery in New York City. Eliza said that she wanted him to be laid to rest in the city he loved so much. She knew him so well. Getting there was surprisingly easy, all things considered. With a certain type of help from above, he was making excellent time to his pseudo grave.

He made it to the cemetery slightly past two, a little worried that he was too late and very worried he'd be attacked. Walking thru people's final resting places, knowing one of them had your name on it, wasn't something he'd recommend doing at this time of night. To say it was unsettling, with or without the threat of being killed, would be an understatement. He kept his eyes and ears peeled for anyone lurking around for trespassers or anyone standing at a grave; making absolutely sure that his hood hid his face. Connor emerged from the shadows briefly, said that he spotted someone, and pointed him towards the further left side of the cemetery. He looked that way and saw nothing but darkness and tombstones. He had no clue how Connor or Able were able to see anything in the darkness; an assassin skill, if he wanted to hazard a guess. He would have asked, but when he turned back to where the assassin was, he was gone. He concluded, then and there, that Connor was a man he would never not have on his side.

There actually was a person standing in front of a grave. They weren't hiding at all; Alexander spotted them almost immediately upon walking over. He his behind the grave marker directly behind him, to get a better look and the other luckily didn't notice; though, he should have, Alexander sucked at hiding. The man in question was in a long black coat and a wide brimmed hat; presumably to his his identity, like he was doing. He definitely wasn't Hercules; his build was too small and his shoulders were too narrow; but he did seem oddly familiar, though. He seemed to be having a silent prayer for and/or to whoever was buried under the headstone. Peaking around the stranger, he made out part of his name and gave himself chills. There was something about seeing his own grave that made his blood freeze in his veins. The man finished his prayer and started speaking.

"... I'd never thought this day would come, Alexander..."

Without even seeing his face, he knew that voice at once. He took a small step out from behind his almost completely useless hiding place, "... ... Well. If it isn't, Arron Burr. Sir."

Burr's head shot up from looking at the tombstone, but he didn't move from his spot. The young Colonel chuckled weakly, "Even on the other side, are you still using that joke, Alexander?"

There was something about the way he spoke made Alexander uncomfortable. It wasn't normal for his friend to sound so... upset. It was very unusual for the typically calm and collected Arron Burr to sound as distraught as he did.

"... John's devastated, I hope you know that. We all are..."

Wait, John? How did Burr know-?

"You should have spoken to him and your friends while they were here. They need it more than I do."

"... What?..."

John and his friends were here? Did he mean Lafayette and Hercules?

"Burr, where are they? I need to know."

Burr's shoulders hunched as Alexander spoke, like he couldn't bear to hear it, "Why, Alex? Why did you go and get yourself killed? Always the damn hero, huh?"

He wasn't sure why the other was acting this way, but he could only guess it was related to his death, "Burr. Turn around. Please."

"Do you know how everyone looked when we found out from Hercules what happened? Why did you have to-?"

"Turn around, Arron!"

Burr jumped at his yelling and whirled around. He froze where he stood when their eyes meet.

Alexander sighed and looked away, "You didn't have to say all that. I had a pretty good idea already."

He looked back up at his first friend and smiled softly. He took a small step forward and Burr almost immediately backed into his tombstone, "... ... A-alexander?... ..."

His small smile wavered at the tone in Burr's voice, "In the flesh. I'll be honest, out of everyone I expected to see when I came to visit my own grave, I wasn't expecting you, all by yourself... And, let's get one thing clear; you're my friend too, Arron."

The darker man stared at him, looking absolutely shocked. He took a few more steps forward and touched his forearm; causing the other to flinch, "Arron? Are you al-?"

Burr stepped away from him, grabbed his arm and started dragging him out of the cemetery.

"What? B-burr, what are you-?"

"You owe everyone a proper apology and you are not going anywhere until you give them one. You hear me, Alex?!"

He blinked up at Burr in surprise. Did his supposed death affect him that much? He was dragged all the way to a small inn near the port. Burr hauled him upstairs and knocked on the door at the end of the hall. Burr refused to let go of his arm and his death grip was starting to hurt. A voice from inside told them to enter and Burr pulled him inside.

Sitting on the single bed was Hercules and Lafayette to the left and right, respectively, of a distressed looking John. Near the covered window was, very surprisingly, George Washington. That meant the rumors were true. He briefly wondered if he was here to see his pseudo grave too. The four men looked wracked with grief, with John and Lafayette looking near tears.

Washington glanced at Burr, "... Burr. Who is that?"

Burr gripped his shoulder and shoved him forward, "Someone that owes us an explanation."

Alexander turned and glared at Burr, before turning towards his dearest friends. He took a tentative step forward, "... John. Lafayette. Hercules. You all really came, huh?"

The three stilled at his voice. John's head shot up immediately, "... ... A... Alex?... ..."

He smiled softly and stepped closer, "The one and only. I... I didn't expect to see yo-"

A sharp slap to his right cheek shut him up. He staggered back and glared at a furious looking Lafayette, "What the hell?!"

The Frenchman went into an almost indiscernible rant in some anger fueled amalgamation of French and English. Alexander couldn't make out much, but he could tell that the overall theme was him being an idiot and getting himself killed. He sighed, gripped him by the shoulders, and violently shook him.

"Get ahold of yourself and yell clearly!"

Lafayette shook him off and ran a hand through his ponytail in frustration, "You want me to speak clearly? Fine. You should have sent a message to us! I could have helped! We could have helped! Instead, you had to go get yourself hanged! And now you have the gall to show up?! After all this?!"

"It was a set up from the start, Laf!"

"Oh, don't you pull that old tr-!"

 _"They wanted me to sell out the revolution, damn it!"_

The other went deathly quiet at his outburst. A soft hand touched his shoulder and he was met with bloodshot sea green eyes, "... Alex... What happened?"

The young revolutionary sighed, "... I was captured by the redcoats. They offered to let me go if I sold out the army. I refused and was sentenced to hang. Before I did, though I was rescued. I stayed in hiding until I knew it was safe to return. I just came here from Schuyler manor because I was told Hercules would be here. I certainly never expected you to be here, John. It's good to see you."

John chuckled weakly and brushed a few rebellious tears away, "Likewise, Alex."

It took a lot more willpower than he was willing to admit to not help John wipe his tears away. Instead, he settled for slinging an arm over his friend's shoulder and gently rubbing his upper arm. A heavy hand patted his shoulder and Alexander looked up at a very tired Hercules, "You had us all worried for a while. I actually thought you were up and gone this time."

"It'll take more than a few lengths of rope to do me in."

Lafayette sighed and gently grabbed his forearm, "... Alexander, just... don't pull this again... Alright, mon ami?"

The brunette chuckled and laid his hand over Lafayette's, "I'll tell you the same thing I told Angelica. I make no promises, but I'll do my best."

John huffed and ruffled his hair, "That sounds about right."

"Alexander."

The young man jumped and turned to his former general. For someone so large, Washington was very good at staying silent.

"Y-yes sir?"

"... It's good to have you back, son."

"... It's good to be back, sir."

The comforting feeling of being surrounded by his friends didn't last as nearly as long as he would have liked it to. Gunshots from the street below shattered any sort of calmness in the room. With quickly barked orders from Washington, hurried goodbyes, and rushed exits through absurd places; he swore on his fake grave he saw Lafayette jump from the window; it was as if no one had been in the room at all. Alexander wasn't able to avoid all of the Templar, but with assassins above him they didn't last long. He wondered about his friends' safety most of the way to Schuyler manor.

By some strange miracle, it was only slightly past dawn when Alexander arrived back in Albany. He silently creeped into the upstairs room he and his wife were staying in. He slowly opened the door and looked inside to see Eliza quietly sleeping. He smiled as he walked to her side and gently kissed her forehead. He stood and turned to sit at the lone desk in the room. He prepared a piece of parchment and an ink pot before he left the previous night, he made his wife a promise after all. Taking up his quil , he started writing. The words always came so naturally to the young revolutionary, so naturally that he usually lost himself in them. Every now and then, he would glance back at the sleeping person in his bed and smile before turning back to his work. After everything that had happened in the past month, he, in that one moment, was happy to do nothing more than to write and wait for his beloved wife to wake up.


End file.
